“Let’s go to Florida for Spring Break,” we said. “It will be fun! We really need the time off,” we said, as we booked flights for ourselves and our kids, and packed our computers into carry-on bags. J spent hours poring over things to do while we were there, checking reviews, and making tentative plans. One of the adventures on the itinerary was the ROCKET LAUNCH at the Kennedy Space Center. But before hitting the “Buy” button on the browser, he polled the rest of the family: is this REALLY something that everyone wants to do? Unanimous YES. A relatively expensive thrill, but totally worth it to see a ROCKET LAUNCH. The visitor’s center, IMAX theater, and other accoutrements included in the ticket price were just icing on the cake.
The launch was scheduled for Tuesday at 11:11, and by Monday night, the family was well into the vacation spirit, which meant that we were spending a lot of time in separate corners of the condo. But there was still agreement that waking up early on vacation to spend 90 minutes in the car together would be redeemed by the spectacular LIVE ROCKET LAUNCH viewing experience. So we sprang for tickets ahead of time, having heard that they sell out, and planned to get there early to get good seats.
I was daydreaming about how cool this would be….watching a LIVE ROCKET LAUNCH….complete with plumes of smoke, and half wondering how the spectators would be protected from all the toxic fumes and heat and unexpected explosions. No worries, though. NASA is smarter than average, I’m sure.
We arrive at the two-mile long road leading to the visitor center an hour before the launch, which is pretty good timing for our standards. Along with everyone else, apparently. We immediately joined in all the other bumper-to-bumper traffic rolling along at 2 miles per hour. Plenty of time, though. After all, we were a whole hour early. The timing was perfect, we trusted. The scenery was replete with flowers, butterflies, and gators, and plus, we had a wifi hotspot so we could ignore the scenery and watch Netflix.
We finally arrived at an intersection that promised to lead toward the parking lot, 4 minutes ahead of liftoff. Lots of people were milling around inside the gates of the facility, all gazing in an easterly direction. Several cars were ejecting passengers who dashed for the entrance like they knew something we didn’t. One unfortunate fellow jogged up all sweaty with his camera and was halted at the intersection by the traffic patrol. “NO PEDESTRIANS!” the attendant barked. “But I just ran 4 MILES from my car,” he claimed. “Well turn around and run back,” said the attendant.
We couldn’t allow that to happen, so we invited him into our car while we crept along. Turns out the guy was from Finland and was incredulous that cars were favored over pedestrians in these parts. He had left his wife behind the wheel 4 miles ago. We still hadn’t entered the parking lot, but were far enough away from Traffic Cop that he wanted to get out. We wished him the best as he sprinted off to the Finnish line. Still convinced that we had enough time, and counting on some mechanical failure to delay the launch, we heard and felt an odd rumbling. This must be it! Dammit, we were too late! We searched the horizon but all we saw were trees. Wait, what is THAT? That tiny speck of light shooting up in the sky, trailed by a puffy white streak…was that IT? Or was that just a regular jet that we see every day at home?
Yep, that was it. $200 and 3 hours later, we had witnessed the epic event all the reviews raved about. The ROCKET LAUNCH. And since we had filmed it with our phone cameras for future generations to enjoy, we saw it through a screen. We looked at each other bleakly over the roof of the car, and 50% of us said, “Can we go home now?”
Hell no. We’re gonna pay another $10 to park, then wander around the artificial space complex in search of redemption. And you better not complain, neither. Last in a crowd of people crossing the parking lot, gaping resentfully at the Visitor Center’s massive orange fake rocket that I had previously deluded myself into thinking was the rocket being launched, I must have wandered outside of the invisible crosswalk. I drew the wrath of yet another parking attendant, who spoke into my back something about playing chicken with the parking patrol golf cart that was impatiently awaiting it’s go time. Lucky for her, I was still euphoric from the ROCKET LAUNCH, otherwise I would have shown her how we do. P.G. County style.
With mounting concern that my introvert battery was about to short circuit, we stood in line to get into the park. I was grimly reminded that at tourist attractions, personal space boundaries are often measured only by the length of the camera lens. At least that is what I convinced myself as I was poked in the crack by the fellow standing in line behind me. I jostled around to put my husband between me and the offending Nikon, and apparently he became sloppy seconds.
Immediately inside the park, the complaining began. Sudden heatstroke plagued the youngest, who had insisted on wearing long black leggings and a sweatshirt. We dashed for the first indoor climate controlled exhibit with no line, a plastic habitat of the Florida Everglades, complete with deer heads, ducks, and assorted ladles used by native gators before the Spanish conquistadors arrived. I was elated to discover that there was also a bathroom with no line, and a water fountain that spouted FREE briny Florida tap water so I didn’t have to wait in the 45 minute line at the snack bar to buy the kid a bottle of filtered, unbrined Florida tap water.
After that temporary reprieve, we had a big decision: wait in line for a bus tour and spend another 2 hours hostage to the whim of the space center tour guide, or create our own adventure in the park.
It took minimal communication in the form grunts and eyerolls to opt for Plan B, since we had already exceeded our quota of conflict-free family time. We broke up into pairs, J and L to the IMAX theater, Z and I to the gift shop, where a/c was ample and people-watching was prime. The IMAX movie took longer than expected, so after we were done being entertained by tourists contemplating this shirt or that mug, Z and I found an outdoor umbrella table beside the Great Ball of Space (the name has been changed to protect the innocent).
This 10,000 pound sphere, hovering on a cradle of recirculating fountain water, engraved with constellations and other celestial wonders (not necessarily to scale), was the highlight of our park entertainment. Triggered by our latent fascination with disgust, we intermittently gaped, cringed, and shielded our eyes from the sheer masses of people who found that attraction inviting for off-label use. Tempting to touch, the Ball of Space rolled harmlessly on it’s water cloud while being stroked and admired. I fantasized about having my picture taken with it whenever my zodiac sign orbited into view; however, I was unwilling to give up my seat in the shade. Periodically, teams of people pooled their collective strength to momentarily stop the Great Ball of Space and send it retrograde. I could only imagine how this was affecting all the astrologists of the world. But the real showstoppers were the parched and sweaty people who splashed the Ball of Space fountain water on their faces and necks, flicked it on their siblings and parents, or simply scooped up a refreshing mouthful. Yes. People DRANK the Great Ball of Space fountain water. The very same water that passed through the hands of every man, woman, and child in the park that day, plus yesterday’s masses who also touched the handrails, souvenir coffee mugs, ticket kiosks, and lunch trays.
I felt an urgent need to get the heck out of there, second only to the desperation I experienced several years ago at a popular Florida theme park where I believe I contracted the Swine Flu. Thankfully, the IMAX movie ended and we reunited with our familial sparring partners. We made a group halfhearted effort to visit one more attraction, which we abandoned when we saw the line to get in. Silent, sullen, hot, and hangry, we concluded our anticlimactic mission to see the ROCKET LAUNCH at the Kennedy Space Center. We plugged back into GoogleMaps, Netflix, Musical.ly, and iTunes. We avoided eye contact and casual conversation. We made it home and logged the adventure as one that we wished we hadn’t done. Later in the week, we came across a beautiful picture someone had posted of the same ROCKET LAUNCH. A perfect unobstructed view of liftoff, complete with the plumes of smoke and toxic fumes I had longed for, taken while standing in the ocean. I like to imagine that it took 3 hours, $210, and a Finnish 4-mile sprint for that person to capture the moment; but in reality, it was most likely a free public beach with a better view than the Kennedy Space Center could have ever delivered without a Jumbo-tron or VIP ticket. Lesson learned.
Oh dear, I wish you had mentioned it to me before you left. We spend January each year just a few miles north of there and have watched a launch from the beach – it was awesome – but these launches can be scrapped last minute. This past January we sat on our dock, lots of people were already on the beach and their own docks, and waited for a launch that never happened. It was re-scheduled for the next night but that, too, didn’t happen. Then we were told by neighbors that these small rockets that send satellites up aren’t very spectacular.
We did see one good launch a few years ago and, yes, the ground shook and the streak of flames going up was impressive but we never spent all that money to the visitor center. There are, though, some beautiful stretches of beach near there and lots of alligators to observe in the marshes.